


Memory

by JustJym



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Adultery, Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Childhood Memories, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Fix-It, Flashback Sequence, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Slight Underage Warning, Smoking, eddie's stalker vibes, lots of kissing and touching, richie has a drinking problem, underage stuff but nothing sexually graphic, vomit warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:14:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23494408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustJym/pseuds/JustJym
Summary: While some memories that return are welcome and happy, the one's that return to Richie are not ones he's thrilled to remember.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 1
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I literally watched Chapter 2 three days ago and then decided I needed to contribute. This is the monster I birthed.

**September 2016**

Richie was huddled against his dressing room toilet, a bottle of _Jack Daniels_ in one hand, his free arm resting on the seat. He was sweating profusely as memories flooded back to him of his childhood– not of the clown, no he would remember that later, but of another time he buried deep in the bowels of his subconscious. There were things he remembered clearly that still haunted him to this day, and for many days to come, but after all these years, the face that came to mind–

He thrust himself towards the toilet, vomiting violently the liquor that was attempting to quell his anxiety and now taunted him from the bowl below. He groaned weakly and slammed his back into the wall, yanking the bottle up and to his mouth. He drank sloppily, a rivulet of bourbon dribbling down his few day old stubble and down his neck. He felt the liquid tickle his chest but ignored it, gasping and hissing at the burn in his throat.

He had gotten brief flashes of his childhood over the last few hours, of a kid who loved staying up late in a blanket fort, with a flash light and the latest _X-Men_ comic, eyes wide in his magnifiers as he impatiently sped through the action packed thrill. Of a kid who spent most of his teen summers in the arcade playing Street Fighter, besting most of the other kids that challenged him. Of a kid who had friends, real friends, not the fake ones he had to make to continue his progress through show business. Kids that cared about him and loved him like family. Kids that put up with his 'trashmouth' and still called him to come out and play and have sleepovers.

The more the memories came back to him, the more his stomach churned. He knew it wouldn't be long before the contents in his belly began to bubble out of his throat and probably onto the floor. He was so weak, but he just didn't feel like moving anymore. Didn't feel like breathing. Something about the memories was plaguing him, picking the lock of the safe he kept tucked neatly behind a 10 foot concrete wall of hyper-masculinity and crude, dark humor.

He yanked the bottle from the floor, chugging down what was left, the amber liquid coating his tongue and numbing his brain. When the drink fell short to just half a second, he held it out before him, the brand new forty ounce he demanded be waiting for him in his dressing room was now empty. He glared at his watch, the numbers dancing around in his drunken haze, reminding him that he had finished the bottle in under an hour. He let his arm go limp, glass surprisingly not shattering at his thigh, his head slumping against his shoulder that still cradled the porcelain throne.

He felt gross– no disgusting was the better term. A big 'sloppy bitch,' as he often called himself when he felt the need to berate himself. His career may have been looking up, but his life was still on par with that of a man who spent most of his nights drinking his woes away after a long night in the factory, reluctant to go home to his nagging wife and three screaming children. The things he'd been trying to run away from, trying to hide from everyone around him, were now consuming his every thought, but it shouldn't be.

He had made fantastic work of putting up a front to the media, taking beautiful women from Tinder out on nights they wouldn't forget, but nights he would forget by morning. Tabloid articles were his only saving grace, spreading the idea that he was just a playboy, so he could hide the monster that dwell within. The reminder of the oozy black creature he truly was brought 'that face' back to mind, the face that belonged to something more beautiful than he was. More perfect. Equally annoying.

A beautiful, stupidly perfect, soft face that could only belong to–

He hurled his guts out again, unable to muster the strength to actually aim into the toilet bowl, the bourbon and bile coating his arm and the seat. Some of it managed to find it's target, the rest was dripping off the side and soaking into his jeans.

“Fuck.”

– – 

**September 1989**

Five boys sat huddled around the television in Bill's living room, playing the _Sega-Genesis_ he'd just been gifted as a present from his parents after returning from their first vacation without Georgie. Richie could remember Bill telling him in absolute confidence that he cried when his parents gave it to him, knowing that not having a little brother to play it with hit him harder than their generosity. He also remembered blurting said confidence out jokingly at the clubhouse in front of the rest of the Losers, Bill giving him a seething glare of hatred, but Bev was quick to clear the air between them after hugging him tightly, letting him know that they all felt for him.

Bill pounded at the buttons as he danced the knight of _Ghouls 'n Ghosts_ around the screen, avoiding– well, ghosts and ghouls. All the boys chanted and pointed, trying their best to help him beat the bad guys, but it only distracted him further. When the knight was finally bested by a massive caterpillar snake hybrid that called itself the Deathcrawler, Bill threw his hands up and dropped the controller, rolling his eyes in the process.

“Would you guys sh-sh-shut up!” Bill shouted at them, the other boys recoiling back.

Richie stepped up to bat with his typical smug face, pushing his to-big glasses back up his nose, “Don't be such a sore loser, Bill.”

Bill scowled at him, and thrust the controller towards the snobby boy. “I'd like t-to see you d-do better!”

Richie flashed a cocking grin, taking the gamepad proudly. “They've got this game down at the arcade. I play it _all_ the time! You guys are about to watch a master.”

Bill stood and stomped away to the couch, high stepping over mountains of blankets and pillows brought over by each boy. Backpacks piled in the corner filled with a change of clothes, comics and other things boys like to hide away in their bags. Snack boxes and candy wrappers littered the floor along side coke cans and various trash none of them could really identify who they came from.

A slap came to the back of Richie's head, a squeaking voice that complimented his own annoying voice spouted, “Why do you have to be such an asshole, Richie?”

“Ow!” Richie hissed, rubbing the spot he had been struck, then shoving the pipsqueak behind him. “Shut up, dipshit!”

Eddie, the smallest of the boys in both height and weight, puffed up at the insult, ready to throw another verbal punch right back, when they were all silenced by, “Boys!” The slow, warning voice of Bill's mother, cautioning them from continuing to use vulgar language.

The two boys frowned at each other after taking their shocked, worried faces away from the doorway that displayed the stairwell.

“Four-eyes,” Eddie whisper shouted at Richie.

“Bubble boy,” Richie whisper shouted back.

They slapped at each other again before Stan sighed and decided to be the adult of the group, “Guys, stop it. Richie,” he nodded towards the television. “Start a new game.”

Richie grabbed his pillow and tucked it under his butt, getting into his sitting 'game position' and pressing start. The boys went back to being intrigued by the game play, Richie expertly jumping, dodging and striking down his foes, his body occasionally moving along with the direction of the knight.

Just before making it to the next boss, Ben turned around to Bill, who sat sulking on the couch with his arms crossed. “Hey, Bill, there any pizza left?” the pudgy boy asked, innocently asking for something to occupy his time while waiting his turn to play. 'Play until you get a 'game over'' the verbal agreement had been, 'then pass to the left.'

Bill nodded and beckoned Ben to follow him, Stan getting up as well, collecting their discarded paper plates so they wouldn't have to get new ones. Eddie sat close to Richie's side, the boy now at the center of the screen. “Oh, jump, jump!” Eddie shouted, back seat driving Richie's turn, as they all had done to Bill just a few minutes prior. “Ooo, over there, get that! Watch the skeleton! Richie, watch it!”

Richie had learned to ignore background noise, Eddie easily muffled even though he was right in his ear. He did as he was being instructed, but he already knew how to do it, having spent several days and quarters on the cabinet at the arcade. He made it to the first boss, ready to kick its unholy ass, when Eddie started leaning closer to him, practically draped over his back and pushing him forward. He tried pushing back, but the light weight of the smaller boy was surprisingly difficult to shove away. And that led to the unfortunate early defeat of the knight.

Richie grimaced at the game over screen, both it and Eddie laughing tauntingly at him at his loss. “I thought you were good at this game!” Eddie teased, still giggling at the sudden attack on Richie's pride.

“I _am_ good at it,” Richie retorted, “but its kinda hard to play with you laying on top of me.”

“Yeah,” Eddie scoffed with a snort, “Right.”

Richie took back the controller and hit start, restarting the opening cut scene. Eddie gasped a bit too over exaggerated and shouted, “Hey! It's my turn!”

Richie rolled his eyes and ignored him. “You made me die, so I get another turn by default.”

“That's bullshit!” Eddie barked in that high pitch he would always be remembered for while ignoring the previous warning from their host's mother. “You died, so, I get a turn.” Eddie reached for the controller, Richie quickly thrusting it to the side and keeping it out of reach.

“Dammit, Richie!” Eddie snarled before tackling the taller boy, shoving him to the carpet from his pillow perch. The boys fought and cursed, rolling around in a pile of limbs and insults, the fight over the game seemingly lost the more they tumbled, the fight becoming more personal as it went on. Just as Bill, Stan and Ben came rushing in, and another warning call from above, the boys ceased.

Richie felt everything stop in that moment, Eddie above him, both of them huffing and bruised. There were no other boys. He wasn't at Bill's house and the theme to _Ghouls 'n Ghosts_ was nonexistence. There was only... Eddie. The small boy angry and panting, straddling his hips and holding his left wrist with one hand and right forearm in the other. He was flabbergasted. The wave of emotion he'd felt was similar to that of when he found his father's adult magazine hidden away in the garage. He felt–

“Boys!” Bill's mother snapped quickly, the room so quiet they could hear her teeth click together. “If you don't stop fighting and cursing, I'm taking the game away.”

Eddie looked her way, climbing off Richie and apologized in a way one would call a brown noser. “Sorry, Mrs. Denbrough,” he pursed his lips and looked down, sitting on his feet.

She said something to Bill that Richie couldn't remember, because he was too busy staring into the ceiling. Eyes locked where Eddie's eyes had been, glasses askew and skin buzzing. He could still feel Eddie sitting on his hips, even though he obviously wasn't. He felt like he wanted him back, sitting there comfortably and holding him down, and not moving. The warmth that settled itself in his body felt foreign and... delicious.

That warmth lead to, what Richie can only describe as 'twitching,' having become familiar with 'twitching' when home alone in his bedroom. He quickly shot up from the carpet and rushed to the bathroom, shoving past Mrs. Denbrough, barking a panicked, “Sorry,” and slamming the door behind him.

He pressed his body against the door, heart pounding like a rubber ball in his chest, bouncing against every rib and organ, making it hard to breath. Did he just, 'twitch,' to Eddie? 'No, no there's no way,' he tried to convince himself, but the raging need his young teenage self felt was telling him otherwise. He was shaking, and scared, horrified by this reaction. There no way he could be... He wasn't... He's not... Not for–


	2. Chapter 2

**September 2016**

Richie held his face with one hand as he waited in traffic, a jam more than likely caused by an accident. He'd get through it soon, he was sure, the wait would help his hangover. He'd woken in the most uncomfortable position he'd ever slept in; leaned against a toilet, covered in his own vomit, head thrown back where he was sure he'd been snoring disgustingly. His neck was still stiff, and the pain killers he'd knocked back still hadn't kicked in, not that they would touch his headache.

He shakily reached for his coffee, sipping it before digging through his glove box for the hidden stash of cigarettes he kept around for emergencies. He lit one and inhaled deeply, letting every sensation that distracted from the pain of both memory and physical do it's job. He slipped on his prescription sunglasses, that were a little too cool for his own good, before rolling down his window to let the smoke waft out of the car.

It didn't take long for traffic to start moving again, his GPS reminding him every two minutes that he was 'x miles from your next turn.' Once the only woman in his life informed him of the exit he needed to take, he was already finished with half the pack of smokes. His throat hurt, and he couldn't help but cough occasionally, letting it continue to let him forget about what he was driving towards. Towards a hypochondriac that once made him question himself, and ultimately changed his life.

He knew what he felt back then was just chemical reactions to adrenaline, but as he continued to remember what happened night after night, it only made him question himself further. He knew what he was becoming, and had no one to turn to. No one to talk about it with that would still accept him as who he was. He was Richie 'Trashmouth' Tozier, not the 'faggot' all the bully's had dubbed him. He was a normal teenage boy trying to figure out the world and just got a little confused.

Until a drunken night led one Trashmouth to a club on the other side of LA, and into the bed of man with strikingly similar features to–

He slammed the breaks, the car behind him doing the same and laying on the horn. Bile rose into the back of his throat, Richie swinging the door open, managing to get his seat belt off before emptying his stomach onto the pavement. One hand on his knee and the other held out in a wide palm towards the angry driver behind him. He hawked a luggie to clear his mouth of the acid that remained, spitting it at his feet and looking back at the driver. He shouted a deeply apologetic sorry to them, and got back into his car. 

– – 

**June 1992**

Richie had kept what happened a Bill's house a close kept secret for the last 3 years, locking it away where it should be because he was a normal boy with normal thoughts. He still went to the clubhouse and acted like a normal sixteen year old boy, sneaking porn mags into his backpack to take with him and pass out to those who were interested. He'd even bring a few beers from his dad's stash. He was the same ole Trashmouth, just a little trashier that he used to be. No one ever said anything if they noticed.

He was lounging against one of the dirt walls, sleeping bag wrapped around his body, a copy of _Juggs_ out in the open so no one would question him. A fireplace was roaring to his far right, courteously built by Ben. They'd spent a good few weeks fishing up the perfect stones to construct the fireplace, and now they would have heat in their cellar of a clubhouse when the winter months came. Even in the middle of summer, Maine would feel the chill of the northern northern hemisphere, prompting the new addition.

It was pretty late, everyone else fast asleep, tugged in their bags and blankets, Ben and Mike competing in the 'loudest snorer' competition. He checked his watch, it was almost four in the morning and he was still flipping through the porno mag like a newspaper. None of the women really excited him, no matter what pose they were in or how they were dressed, if at all. The only ones that gave him the slightest bit of a reaction were the short haired ones, ones that looked like–

'Stop,' he thought to himself, dropping the magazine to his lap, crumpling it in clenched fists. 'We are not doing this here.'

He decided it would be best to go to sleep, but the urge to piss was more urgent. He tossed the magazine and quietly slipped out the sleek sleeping bag. He stepped around the sleeping bodies on the ground, Stan tucked away in the hammock, praying to every God he could think of to not trip.

Apparently, none of them were listening.

He ended up getting his foot caught on someone's tossed shoe and stumbled forward, somehow managing to stay standing, not quiet used to having long as fuck legs. But to combat his fortune of not falling over onto someone, he instead lost his glasses. “Fuck,” he muttered, slowly lowering himself to his knees, hands outstretched to try and guide himself.

He felt around blindly, a hand meeting a sleeping bag, but he was sure it was the part of one on the ground. He kept it there, planting himself as he searched around like Velma. He scooted around on his knees, cursing quietly as he moved his planted hand further up the slick fabric. The ground became more lumpy and in some places squishy. He squinted his eyes and rationalized he was probably crawling around on someone's backpack. He slapped his hand, finding something soft with each pat, furrowing his brow in confusion.

He patted away from the softness until he finally found them. He pulled them to his face, sitting back on his haunches. His chest clenched when he realized Eddie was staring back at him, eyes wide and face flush. The sight startled him enough to send him back onto his ass, his hands almost too sweaty to keep him upright. “Fuck, Eds,” he gasp sighed, trying to not wake anyone else.

A blush burned his cheeks as the boys locked eyes, Eddie sitting up and rubbing his sleepy gaze. “The fuck are you doing, Richie?” he asked in his usual aggressive tone.

“S-sorry,” Richie stuttered, a hand coming up to his glasses and answering, “I was just trying to find my glasses. I didn't mean...”

He lost his voice when he realized what he'd just been doing. His glasses had fallen on Eddie's makeshift bed, to which Richie unknowingly was fondling while searching for them. The squishy backpack he thought he'd been holding onto had been the smaller boy's chest. The softness he'd touched had been Eddie's hair, which was mussed from tossing on his pillow. He swallowed hard, face burning and brow sweaty, then felt his soul leave his body at the embarrassment he was feeling.

“You okay?” Eddie asked concerned, seeing the panicked stare of the taller boy.

Richie just nodded vigorously, “Yeah, gotta piss.” Then he shoved himself up and off the ground, rushing to the ladder and out the hatch. He practically crawled out of the hatch, clawing at the dirt and leaves as he tried to run away from the growing urges. Urges he couldn't get from a nudie mag. Urges he could only get from the most annoying person in their group.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some movie bits in it. So I just shortened them down to dialogue so it would help place the timeline in the story.

**September 2016**

Richie made it to the townhouse late that evening, checking in and just sitting on the bed with his face in his hands, something he'd become an expert at doing. He was in Derry, a place he'd forgotten about for twenty odd years. There were so many things he wanted to forget about this place, including the man that wouldn't leave his thoughts alone, even when he closed his eyes.

“Get ahold of yourself,” he snapped at himself, wanting to kick his own ass for letting something that happened over twenty years ago turn him into an overgrown baby. He felt like a teenager again, hiding away from the cruel world that hated him. But he wasn't that scared little kid anymore. He'd learned to hide his true nature and that's just how he needed to act tonight. “It's just a reunion with old friends. That's it.”

He jumped to his feet, finding the vanity mirror and brushing down his shirt and running a hand through his mane. He made himself as presentable as one could when you looked like Richie Tozier, who had vomited most of the last two days and was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. “Deep breaths, Richie, deep breaths,” he calmed himself, inhaling through the nose and exhaling out his mouth, over and over until he regained some control of himself. “They're your friends, not an audience.”

He made one more sweep through his hair, resetting his glasses and marched to the door, chest out and ready for anything. He grabbed the door knob, turned it, opened to, “Gotta make sure I go back for my medicine bag,” then immediately shut it back.

“Nope, can't do it,” he muttered, now pacing the room, his hands not staying still on any part of his body. “No, what the fuck are you talking about, pussy?” he berated, “You can do this. He probably doesn't even remember anything. Yeah, you're right,” he replied back to his own angry voice. “What are the chances he still remembers what happened back then. I'm worked up over something that doesn't fucking matter anymore.”

His eyes slipped across the floor to his bed, spying his duffle bag. He dashed to it, shuffling around inside until he pulled out a trial size bottle of whiskey. He twisted the cap and launched it across the room, knocked back his shot, gagged at the harsh burn, then slammed the plastic to his bag. Liquid courage would get him through this, just like it did before. Of course he would keep it monitored, he didn't want another trip to rehab after his little reunion was over.

He did his breathing exercises again, using his hands to help him visualize himself relaxing. “You're fine, it's fine, everything's going to be fine, Rich,” he pumped himself up.

He headed back for the door, “Shit, I forgot to grab my vitamins.”

“Maybe _one_ more drink,” Richie said with a considering nod, spinning around and digging through his bag again.

– –

“So, wait, Eddie you got married?”

“Yeah, why's that so fucking funny, dickwad?”

“What? To, like, a woman?”

“Fuck you, bro.”

“Fuck you!”

– –

“I know your secret! Your dirty, little secret!”

– –

“You guys, I can't do it. I can't. You saw what happened up there. I was gonna let you die. I just fucking froze up. If you let me go down there with you, I'm gonna get us all killed.”

“Listen to me. You had a moment. Fine. But who killed a psychotic clown before he was fourteen?”

– – 

“Hey, Richie. I gotta tell you something.”

“What? What's up, buddy?”

“I fucked your mother.”

– –

“Wait, Richie,” Eddie's hand was grasping his so tightly, it felt desperate and scared, no different than how he felt in that moment. The overwhelming threat of doom above them, ready to strike them both down any second. Richie stayed, unable to speak, something so unbecoming of a man of so many stupid words.

“That's not,” Eddie coughed and gasped for air, “That's not what I meant to say.”

Richie clenched his teeth and swallowed, unsure of what to expect Eddie to say to him. He placed his other hand atop Eddie's, the one that was holding him so tightly he swore the bones were beginning to break. He put on his usual smile, a front to hide the pain he was feeling inside. “Then, what, Eds?”

“When we...” another rough cough. “When we were...” the words trailed off but came back as if he'd never stopped talking, “I didn't mean what I said. I never...” he faded out again almost sleepily. Richie put a hand to his unharmed cheek, a tear threatening to fall as his face began an ugly cry. He knew exactly what Eddie was talking about and the rush of emotions he felt were ruining him.

“It's okay, Edsie,” Richie cry laughed as he tried to hold himself together, the cursed nickname leaving his lips like a prayer. “I know, okay? I always knew.”

“I lo-,” Eddie grunted low, Richie coming in to press their foreheads together.

“Don't say it,” Richie begged, tears already starting to run down his face. “Please. Just rest, okay?”

Eddie said 'no' on a hair's breath. “I can't die withou-”

“Stop it,” Eddie snapped, “Don't fucking say that! You're not going to die.” He was sobbing now, “I won't let you.”

Eddie's used what strength he had left to crack a weak smile. “They need you, Rich,” his voice was so soft he could barely hear it over the screams of his friends and the monster.

Richie sucked in a hard breath, regaining control of his emotions, just like he learned how to do after all these years. To fight the pain just a little longer, and then they could talk. He pressed his lips to Eddie's forehead, not a kiss, just something he felt he needed to do before he swore he would come back.

– –

“Richie, honey. He's dead,” Bev said fighting back her tears. She knew how Richie felt, they all did, and they knew what this was doing to him.

“No! He's fine!” Richie yelled back, so sure of himself.

“We need to go, Rich!”

“No!” his voice was loud and angry and harsh with sorrow. “I'm not leave him here!”

“He's gone.”

“Do you fucking think he would want to be buried here? With that,” he pointed towards the center of the room where they left that fucking clown. “That 'thing'!?” Everyone was silent, knowing nothing they could say would convince him otherwise. “Just leave. I'm not leaving him here.” His voice was almost a whisper. He took Eddie into his arms, hugging his lifeless body close, not caring of the blood and sweat and grime covering the both of them. “I'm not leaving you, Edsie.”

“Ri-” it was so hard to hear, but he knew what he heard. It wasn't a trick, he knew it.

Richie held Eddie by his shoulders, observing him, seeing how he was straining himself to keep his eyes open. His heart leaped into his throat and he screamed, “He's still alive!”

Despite their protests, he scooped Eddie up, ignoring the pain in his arms, in his whole body, letting adrenaline do the rest. The other Losers decided it best not to fight him and grabbed him, dragging his weighed down person with them, the cursed cavern crumbling around them. They worked together to appease Richie, helping lift Eddie's limp body up the well, through the gray water, up the second well and out of the imploding house.

Richie refused to release Eddie as they ran out of the house, losing his footing and falling, knowing he heard the smaller man grunt with him. Bill and Mike dragged him across the yard and into the street, Richie now sitting up on the pavement, Eddie wrapped tightly in his arms.

“Ri-ch...ie.”

Richie cried.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie has a flashback sequence! Also underage teenagers being horny...

**January 1993**

“3... 2... 1... Happy New Year!” the Losers cried as they clanked their beers together, all huddled around the fireplace of their clubhouse. Richie threw his arm around Eddie's shoulders, pulling him into a friendly hug, knocking back his beer and draining it like a champ.

Eddie watched him chug the beer, wondering how much he'd been drinking to be so used to it. He could barely drink the stuff, taking a few sips just so he wouldn't be the odd man out. Everyone cheered and went back to their earlier conversations, leaving Eddie and Richie to go back to their nonexistent conversation. It was awkward for the smaller boy, Richie still giggling and dropping his arm, Eddie suddenly hating the loss.

“So, what's your New Year's resolution, Eds?” Richie asked him just a little too loudly.

Eddie darted his eyes back and forth between the trashmouth and the fireplace. “Uhm,” he thought on the subject for a moment, “Probably to fuck your mom.”

Richie pointed at him with a 'o' smile and shouted, “You fucker,” the proceeded to laugh stupidly, slapping a hand onto Eddie's back. Eddie just laughed with him, not as enthusiastically, but nodded along.

The hand on his back burned, like someone had taken a poker from the fireplace and placed in on his skin. He swallowed hard, reluctantly taking a sip of the beer and scrunching his face at the taste. Ever since he woke up to Richie fondling him, obviously searching for his glasses last year, he had strange—feelings was the only way he could describe it.

Seeing Richie made his palms sweat and his knees weak, and those feelings took over. He stopped fighting Richie with the hammock. He just played along with the jokes, and started easing up on the insults they would throw back and forth at each other. He knew Richie noticed it, and soon enough, the taller boy had followed his lead. It usually took all of them drinking to get the verbal abuse to start flying around, and they both took it in stride.

“What about you, Richie?” Eddie asked in response. “What's your resolution?”

Richie's smile quickly fell into a grimace, Eddie unsure if he was angry, sad, or about to vomit. He finished off the beer and tossed the bottle into the fire, dropped his arms to rest them on his knees. “Courage.”

“What?” Eddie laughed confused, unsure of what Richie meant.

“To tell you...” Richie stopped himself, sighing and shaking his head. “Forget it.”

“Tell me what?” Eddie encouraged, leaning into Richie's wobbly frame. Richie's eyes were wide behind his glasses, a blush deepening across his face. Eddie felt a blush creep across his own face. “Tell me what, Richie?” Eddie asked again, his voice low as he leaned closer.

Richie tensed up and sunk his head into his shoulders, suddenly pushing Eddie away. “Why are you acting so weird, man?” Richie snapped at him. “You drank too much.”

The taller boy stood and walked away, heading for the ladder and up the hatch. The rest of the Losers watched him go, turned to Eddie afterward in question. Eddie just shrugged his shoulders and took another quick swig of the beer, agreeing that it still didn't taste better as he kept going.

An hour passed, Bill standing and stating, “I'm gonna go check on Richie.”

“Wait!” Eddie yelped like a kicked puppy, jumping to his feet. “I'll go. I'll go look for him.” Raised brows met him with confusion, and Eddie responded the only way he knew how. Like a smart ass. “What are you guys looking at? It's just Richie. Not like he'd go far without his _Playboy_.”

The guys brushed him off and let him go, Eddie climbing up the ladder in search of Richie. He'd managed to snatch a flashlight before leaving, flicking it on and searching around. It was quiet dark, the moonlight somewhat eerie around him. He took a few steps forward before calling out Richie's name. His bike was still piled with the rest, so he couldn't have gone far. That's when he realized where Richie had gone.

He followed the path the Loser's had worn out, leading him to the stream not to far from their clubhouse. As he closed the distance between himself and the stream, he realized he had been right about Richie's location. Perched on a rock, elbows on his knees, face in his hands, glasses sitting haphazardly beside him on the rock.

“Rich?” Eddie called meekly. Richie didn't move, just as still as a statue. He carefully stepped around the rocks and took a seat next to him, the perch large enough for the both of them and leave some space for a third person. “Rich, you okay?”

Richie dropped his hands with a huff and looked at his like he was going to start yelling, then calmed himself with a breath out his nose and replied, “No, Eds. I'm not.”

Eddie raised his eyebrows in concern and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You wanna talk about it?” He felt Richie tense under his touch and he quickly removed his hand, unsure of what that tension meant. “Please, Richie,” Eddie said sincerely, “What's wrong? Talk to me.”

Richie glanced at him and then back down to the river. He took up his glasses, slipping them onto his nose and gave Eddie a better view of his face, the smaller boy noting he'd been crying. He didn't speak, knowing anything he said would probably deter Richie from saying anything at all. Richie looked away from him again, appearing unable to even hold eye contact. Eddie let him.

“Don't tell anyone,” Richie said quietly. “Not to Bill, or Mike, or anybody. You swear it?”

Eddie nodded without thinking, with a soft, “Yeah.”

“I think I might be...” Richie's voice was lost to a series of vicious, ugly sobs, collapsing into his hand, pushing his glasses up with it. Eddie slowly rest a hand on Richie's back, rubbing it up and down, deeply worried about what could possibly be bothering him. The taller boy began hiccuping and gasping, a hand coming up to his chest. His breathing becoming staggered and rough, Eddie's eyes going wide, realizing that Richie was starting to hyperventilate.

“Oh, shit!” Eddie sputtered as his brain tried to figure out what it was he needed to do. “Uh, shit, uhm,” he hopped up on his feet and thought for a second. 'Okay, hyperventilating, breathing, uhm...'

“Oh!” Eddie shouted and shot his hands to his pocket, digging around for his inhaler.

“Here,” he held out his inhaler, but when Richie didn't take it, his heart dropped. “Okay, uhm,” he stepped forward, lightly tugging at the taller boy's hair, forcing his head up and shoving the inhaler to his lips. “Breathe in on three, okay, Rich?” He didn't wait for him to respond. “One, two...” He shoved the plunger down and Richie coughed hard at the metallic, plastic taste of the medicine. He gasped for breath and Eddie instructed him to inhale again, trying to calm him down with soothing words of, “Just relax. Calm down, it's fine.”

Richie's breathing fell back to normal, unable to find the need to keep crying, his throat and chest hurting too much. Eddie took his place next to Richie and waited patiently for him to relax.

“C'mon, Rich,” Eddie replaced his hand on the taller boy's back, “Tell me what's wrong.”

Richie took a deep breath, exhaling and trying again. Except this time, the words came out all at once. “Ithinkimightbegay.”

“What?” Eddie asked, shaking his face with a stupidly confused face. “The fuck?”

“I said I think I might be...” Richie mumbled the last word, and Eddie sighed.

“I can't unders-”

“Gay! Eddie!” Richie screamed as he stood and stomped into the river, spinning towards him, arms flailed out wildly and angry. “I'm gay! Maybe? I don't...” he slammed his hands onto his head, turning away. He began sobbing again, letting the words just come out now, unable to fight them. They spilled out over his tongue and all over his shirt and into the river, floating into the great nothing that he didn't give two shits about.

“I'm a fucking faggot, Eddie,” he said much quieter, hands now on his hips. “I can't get it up to those stupid fucking magazines. It doesn't matter if I try or not, I can't... I can't fucking...”

He collapsed again but Eddie was quick enough to catch him before he fell. He spun around in Eddie's arms and wrapped his arms around the shorter boy, wailing into his shoulder, as Eddie patted him uncomfortably. It wasn't that he hated what Richie had just said to him, he just didn't know what to say or do to help comfort him. So he did what he could, and just hugged him back and let him cry it out. He needed it.

Eddie held him for a long time, not caring that his feet were cold from the stream, or that his back hurt from the awkward angle he had to hold Richie, or how warm he felt holding him. He felt Richie let up on his sobbing, falling into gentle crying, his body feeling weak under his fingers. “Let's go back to clubhouse and get some sleep, Rich,” Eddie encouraged softly, rubbing Richie's biceps. “We can talk about this somewhere else.”

“I don't want to talk about it anymore,” Richie wiped his eyes with his wrist. “I don't...” he let out an exhausted sigh and gave up on talking.

Eddie pursed his lips and clawed at the dirt that was his brain to find the words he needed to say. The words Richie needed to hear to feel better. Just words. “You're not a,” he paused on the word, having developed a hatred for it since his own confusion began taking over, “'faggot'. And you never will be. You're Richie. You're my friend.” Eddie made sure they were looking at each other, a hand on Richie's face unconsciously. “You'll always be my friend.”

Richie's eyes bounced between the two chocolate browns staring back at him warmly. Eddie gasped, a rough, yet soft kiss slamming against his lips. He whimpered at the kiss, startling himself as the change in physical contact had gone from platonic to romantic in a blink. It was over before it started and Richie had a hand hovering over his mouth, “Eds, I... I'm sorry.”

Richie was about to get away, but the tiny spark in his heart wouldn't let him. Eddie yanked Richie's arm back towards him, slapping an uncoordinated kiss on the taller boy's lips. Richie pushed at his shoulders, but Eddie's grip was too tight, swearing it would bruise. Richie quieted his fight after a moment and they kissed. Nothing crazy like in the movies, or in those video's Richie had stolen from the video store. Just two pairs of lips confusedly pressed together, and yet, enjoying themselves.

Eddie pulled away first, feeling something else building up inside him. They both took a moment to catch their breaths and calm down. He glanced down to see one of their hands were holding each other, by the fingers and it was awkward, but innocent. “Richie,” he spoke carefully, “I won't tell anyone, as long as you don't.”

Richie sniffled snottily and nodded. “Of course. They'd hate us.”

“Everyone will.”

– –

**February 1993**

Eddie shoved Richie onto his bed, climbing into his lap, ripping his shirt off as they explored each other for the seventh time that month. It was Valentine's Day after all, and what are two poor, horny teenagers supposed to do?

– –

**April 1993**

Richie and Eddie shared the hammock, as per usual, one of Richie's crazy long legs dangling off the side, the other thrown over Eddie's body. Both sat reading magazines, Richie keeping up appearances with his nudes and Eddie spying a _Health_ magazine. The rest of the Loser's lounged as usual, jamming to their radio and playing darts.

Richie nearly ripped his magazine in half when he felt a hand grope his crotch. They were hidden by a blanket and Eddie grinned mischievously at him as he squeezed just right. Richie shot a glance to the right, checking to see if anyone had noticed them.

"I'm over here, Rich," Eddie whispered just loud enough for the taller boy to hear. 

"Fuck, Eds-IE!" he clenched, trying to keep from shouting as Eddie wrapped a hand around his length and stroked through his pants. Eddie just giggled, biting his lip. 

– –

**June 1993**

Summer break had just begun, and nothing was stopping two teenagers that were still riding the honey moon train. They raced playfully on their bikes back to Richie's, knowing his parents would be late. They always brushed Bill off when he offered them rides, leaving him alone to take Ben and Stan, all three of them dumbfounded at their actions to abandon them for each other. But it was all they cared about right now. No one else in their group would accept them. No one in the town would.

They needed each other.

– –

**October 1993**

The two may have skipped out on Halloween this year, but that didn't stop Eddie from dressing up for Richie. While Eddie's mom took a late shift, they hid away in his room, feeding each other various candies from the bowl meant for Trick-or-Treaters.

Eddie was perched in Richie's lap, in glorious daisy dukes, suspenders and a colorful crop top, arms around the taller boy's neck and sharing a chocolate between their teeth. Richie was already down to his boxers and undershirt, cock hard against the jean shorts of the smaller teen. 

"Who thought you could taste sweeter, Edsie," Richie joked. Eddie's giggle made his heart soar.

– –

**December 1993**

It was early Christmas morning, probably 7:30 if Eddie had to be specific, he and Richie rolling around on the makeshift bedding on the floor. Layers of blankets and pillows stretched out, rumpling as the continued to grind and shift, lips unable to detach and hands refusing to stop wandering. Eddie moaned as Richie palmed his ass through his underwear, no longer being teased for still wearing what Richie would call 'tighty-whities.' If anything, Richie seemed like like them more, with how they formed to his skin and amplified his posterior features.

Richie's parents were out of town, tending to his sickly grandfather and decided it was best for him to stay home rather than deal with the drama of hospital waiting rooms and countless hours of 'Is he going to be okay?' Something Eddie didn't know his boyfriend would have to deal with in the future.

“What time does your mom get up?” Richie asked between kisses, removing his lips and running a tongue of the thin column of Eddie's neck. Those hands stroked over Eddie's body, arms, legs— everything, the smaller boy moaning into every touch. His arms were around Richie's neck as they met in another heated kiss, sloppy and needy.

“Usually after nine,” Eddie whimpered, feeling Richie slid his hand up his belly, pushing his pajama top open. Richie's shirt had been lost and forgotten since late last night, along with his sleep pants, his cock already aching and peeking through the hole in his boxers. 

“Good,” Richie breathed into his mouth, his fingers tugging at the hem of his 'tighty-whities.' Eddie lifted his hips eagerly and whimpered when palm and fingers felt him up. He had to fight back a screaming moan, biting his tongue and pressing his lips to the taller boy's when he felt Richie probe where they had been joined the night before, still slick and loose.

“Eddiebear! Richie! Time to for break...fast.”

Eddie felt his heart stop, both of them on the floor like animals, staring up at his mother like they had just been caught killing a man. Eddie didn't know what to do, but he could let her know what he had been doing. What they had been doing. What he was.

Like instinct, he shoved at Richie, screaming and fighting and kicking, throwing the taller boy off of him. “Don't fucking touch me! Fucking faggot!”

The words stung even himself as he scrambled to his feet and dashed to his mother, pulling his top closed and attempting to cover his bits. He saw Richie's face, a broken boy with terror and betrayal etched into every corner and crevice of his face. “Edsie,” he mouthed, eyes searching for an explanation. Eddie couldn't even look at him.

His mother barged into the room, face more flush than normal, her hand out and dropping like a hammer on Richie's face. A smack so loud it deafened the room. Richie held a hand to his face, but before he could attempt to explain himself, her hand snatched his hair, dragging him across the room. Eddie yelled for her to stop, but Richie and her screaming combined was too great. Richie grabbed at any and everything he could, side tables, door frames, even clawing at the floor and try and get her to stop dragging him by his hair, losing his glasses.

She practically kicked the front door open and tossed Richie onto the porch, the boy grunting on contact. “Ahh! Fuck!” he cried, pressing into his back and writhing in pain.

“You,” she pointed at him angrily, voice heavy with pants and huffs. “Stay. Away from. My son! Disgusting freak!”

“Mom, stop it!” Eddie shouted, pulled at her shirt to get her back inside. So he could see Richie. “You've done enough.”

“Eddie this _thing_. Has tainted you.” She pushed him back and slammed the door on Richie.

Eddie could here the faint, miserable cry of, “Edsie.”

Edsie. The nickname Richie made up when they started getting serious. When the started kissing more and touching each other. A pet name he cherished. One that was never used in front of other people. A name that haunted his dreams for the next twenty four years.

He couldn't help but cry, his mother crushing him in her arms, stroking his hair and telling him she would protect him. He didn't want her comfort, but the sudden hollowness that consumed him left him cold and lifeless. He was limp in her arms as he stared at the floor, where Richie's glasses had fallen. When he got free of her, not caring he was naked from the waste down, he went to the glasses and picked them up. He held them to his chest, squeezing so tight they almost snapped, tears streaming down his face.

He collapsed on his bed, hiding Richie's button up under the blanket with him as he held both items to his face and sobbed. He wanted to die for what he'd said to him, for the selfish act to protect himself and throwing someone he loved under the bus. He just wanted to go back and change what he'd said, to push Richie away so they wouldn't risk getting caught. Just so he could hear that beloved pet name again. 

“Edsie.”

“Edsie...”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long awaited reunion...

**September 2016**

Eddie could hear the distinct beep of monitors, having become familiar with them throughout his childhood. He didn't have to open his eyes to know where he was, and as his arms moved, like a robot that hadn't oiled in decades, he could tell he had tubes and cords all around him, some even in him. His entire body hurt, mostly in his chest and back, and as he took a deep, waking breath, he winced at the sharp pain in his ribs. His insides felt like they had been rearranged and it was harder to breathe the last time he remembered.

A shift at his side startled him as his eyes opened to a blotchy haze, all the colors blending together and unable to make anything out. The figure beside him moved and said something he couldn't quiet make out, the voice muffled and distant. He tried to pull away from the figure, but it hurt too much to move, his heart rate picking up, the monitor beeping becoming his only companion as it picked up with him.

Hands gripped his shoulders as he started fighting harder. “Edsie, it's okay. It's me!”

Eddie froze, his eyes trying their damnedest to focus on the muddled figure next to him. Things began to morph in the forms they were supposed to be and the haze started to fade, a pair of concerned auburn eyes the first thing he realized were staring back at him. Eddie recognized those eyes, how they watched him with fear and longing, begging for something other than rejection.

“Ri-chie?” he tried the words, his throat soar and hoarse.

“Yeah,” Richie laughed through holding back tears. “Yeah, buddy. It's me.”

“Richie,” he said again, like it was the only word in the English language he knew how to say.

“I'm here, Edsie,” the enraptured man couldn't help but sob happily, “I'm here.”

– –

**October 2016**

It was late into October when Eddie was finally released from the hospital. Eight surgeries, respiratory and physical therapy, and three weeks of hospital food were enough torture for one life time after defeating a man-eating monster clown alien. The hole in his chest, now sealed with graphed tissue from his thighs, reminded him daily that he was now missing a lung, half his liver and part of his stomach. Richie was with him the whole time, helping him hobble to the bathroom, feeding him when his arms were too weak, and calling for the nurses when he couldn't breathe.

He was even there when he would have waking nightmares of death and monsters. Nightmares about a dark cave with a claw jutting out of his chest. Despite the comfort he received, the idea that if he hadn't been there to save Richie—

“We're here,” Richie said as he pulled into Eddie's drive way, the friendly GPS lady announcing 'You have reached your destination.' He parked the car and patting him on the knee, letting it settle there a little too long. “Home, sweet home,” the words coming out more melancholic that he would have liked.

Eddie saw his two story, suburban home, Myra rushing out into the yard and towards them, reminding him a little too much of his mother. Richie was already out of the car, trying to make it to the passenger side, but Myra had already beaten him to it, having blocked his way around the front of his car. Eddie was already arguing with her, holding out a hand to keep her from grabbing and crushing him in her bearlike grip. “I'm fine, Myra, don't worry.”

“Oh, Eddiebear,” her hands were over her face as she wailed her concerns. “What happened to you!? Who hurt you!? Is this why you haven't called me!?”

Eddie grunted as he got out of the car, his arm struggling to push himself up and out, his cane doing most of the lifting. Richie just stood there silent, not sure if he was allowed to say anything, stuffing his hands into his jean pockets. He winced when he heard Myra call Eddie 'Eddiebear,' recalling a pain he couldn't believe he'd forgotten and still wish he had. How he had cried himself to sleep every night for two weeks. How he'd gone home, cold and naked and blind, and just bawled into his pillow, crying out every ounce that remained of his soul.

“Rich,” Eddie's voice startled him out of his trance, shaking his head slightly and giving the smaller man his full attention, brows raised. “Sorry, but could you...” he paused for a moment to cough, his lung still not used to going at it alone, Richie seeing that the stress was getting to him. “My bags, please?”

“Yeah, sure,” Richie nodded and unlocked the trunk. The ticking of the cane Eddie needed to so he could get used to walk again taunted him as it got further away. Richie snuck a glance at his friend and his wife, pursing his lips at the sight, knowing it wasn't his place to feel the way he felt anymore. He yanked the massive bags out of his car, along with two smaller ones, throwing one over each shoulder and dragging the bigger ones behind him.

He dragged them up the stairs of the porch and somehow managed to squeeze inside the tiny door frame with all the luggage. “Just leave them,” Myra said sharply, getting her husband settled on the couch who winced at her pushing.

Richie accepted his fate and set the luggage down respectfully, patting the top of one of the smaller bags like it was a friendly dog. “I, uh,” Richie went to say, but Myra wouldn't stop questioning Eddie for two seconds to let him speak. “Just gonna go... I guess,” he trailed off, talking to himself.

“Richie, wait,” Eddie called but he was already out the door. Richie knew he couldn't look back, he couldn't face him or be near him any longer. He was already too far ahead of himself, and he had been down in the sewers, when he fought to get Eddie out. He definitely had been too far ahead after spending weeks in the hospital, always on guard and praying that nothing would come to take the smaller man. The man who saved him and nearly sacrificed his life for him. The man who smiled at him after waking from his coma.

It was a fool's errand to think that they could go back to the way they used to be. Before— 

“Richie, I said wait!” Eddie called after him, hand outstretched, surprisingly fast for a short man with a cane. The hand on his arm forced him to turn around, the feeling so jarring he had to lean against his car to stay standing.

“Eddie, you need to come back inside and rest!” Myra called from the front door, Eddie sighing and visibly frustrated.

He turned towards her and shouted back, “Just go back inside! I'll be in in a minute. I wanna talk with Richie.”

She yelled something else, but neither of them could make it out, or cared. Eddie gave his attention back to Richie, who seemed to be frozen in fear. This wasn't the face he'd made for the past month. It wasn't that warm smile and inviting laugh that made him feel at home. He didn't want to see the face that had left him the day his mother found them. The day he betrayed him.

“Rich, I,” he was at a loss for words, unsure of what it was he wanted to talk to Richie about. He just knew he wanted to. He had to. He knew he didn't want Richie to leave.

“Eddie,” Richie cut in, knowing it was better for both of them. “Let's not make this harder than it has to be. It was fun while it lasted, but,” he paused, Eddie seeing the telltale sign of tears in his eyes. “It's best if I just go.”

Richie turned back to the car but Eddie's panicked, “Nonono, wait, please,” stopped him.

He could see hurt in the smaller man's eyes, wanting so badly to take that pain away, but he couldn't, and it only make it worse for both of them.

“There's thing we need to talk about,” Eddie said, Richie feeling his heart clench at that. “Things I need to say.”

Richie wanted to protest, but the look Eddie kept giving him wouldn't let the words come out. Instead he managed to say, “I guess I could stay in town for a few more days, but I really have to—”

“Here!” Eddie interrupted, quicker than he would have liked, the hand still on Richie's arm burning through his coat and staining his skin. “You can stay here. Please?”

Richie couldn't say no.

– –

There were things they never got the chance to talk about while in the hospital. Eddie didn't feel it was right to do it in around their friends and nurses. He couldn't even do it on the ride to his house. He needed somewhere more, intimate—wondering if that was the right word to use. They had dinner, the entire meal awkward between the three of them, Myra shooting daggers at Richie the entire time. They retired to bed, Richie taking the guest room, only to leave it quietly a few hours later, as they had agreed.

He left Myra in their room, her snoring giving away she wasn't going to be waking up anytime soon, or so he hoped, and silently closing the bedroom door behind him. They would have their talk tonight, in his office in the basement, where they couldn't be bothered, even if Myra came knocking on the door.

He made his way down the stairs, holding the railing as he let the cane lead his step, knowing he had to take things slow to keep his breathing normal. One lung was something people could easily live with, but they had to keep things simple and slow. He felt his heart seize at the sight of Richie at the kitchen table, helping himself to the whiskey Eddie had tucked away on top of the fridge. He didn't care, they both needed it.

“Rich,” Eddie said in a hushed tone, Richie just staring at his glass and fingering the rim. “Let's go downstairs. It's safer there.”

Richie knocked back the shot and stood, following his lead, Eddie suddenly feeling nervous. To both of them, it felt like walking back into a nightmare. One they wanted to forget. One that haunted Eddie most of his adult life. Facing their fear was something they needed to do. No matter the outcome, they needed to talk about, well, them.

Eddie went first, Richie finding the need to lock the door behind them, surprised to see a deadbolt installed. Eddie didn't say anything if he noticed. The smaller man's pace was slow, as it had been for weeks, and Richie kept a hand out in case he needed to catch him again. The stairs led around to a well furnished basement, looking more like den with how it was decorated. There was a love seat, coffee table and a sizable television mounted on the wall. Bookshelves lined nearly every space accept for the few pictures that hang, of family and wedding photos, as well as his diplomas and other certificates. There was a small trophy case filled with various awards from his time doing Track and Field in college, to which Richie noticed was nestled in a corner next to a second door. He raised a brow at the sight but didn't acknowledge it.

“Have a seat,” Eddie held out his hand to the love seat, walking over to a side table with a decanter of what Richie assumed had bourbon in it and a couple glasses. Eddie filled a glass and turned to hand it to Richie, smirking and speaking cordially, “The good stuff. The stuff upstairs I usually save for guests.”

“But aren't I a guest?” Richie questioned, taking the glass.

“You're special,” Eddie said softly, turning away from him to fix himself his own glass.

Richie swallowed dryly, staring at the glass he was given like it was poison. He took a seat where he was offered, but didn't take a drink. He wasn't sure he could. The tightness in his stomach threatening to launch what was already in there out of his throat. He was in Eddie's personal and private space, and even though he was invited, he felt like he was invading. Eddie took a seat next to him, sipping at his drink before setting it down on the coffee table.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, somehow comfortably with how dense the tension was. Eddie took the initiative to turn on the TV, the channel already set to _ESPN_ , volume almost inaudible. They continued their quiet sit, Richie finally taking a small drink to try and calm his nerves, raising a leg atop his other and leaning back. 'C'mon, relax, you big baby,' he cursed himself, throwing his arm over the back of the love seat, thinking nothing of his actions.

Eddie took another sip and replaced the glass before leaning back, adjusting his robe and chuckling. Richie couldn't help but look over at him, Eddie's eyes locked on the television. “Remember that time,” Eddie started, a small grin on his face, “when we all played football on Mike's farm. And Bill threw the ball to you and you missed it?”

“And my glasses fuckin' shattered?” Richie laughed with him, recalling their first autumn as official Losers. “I swear there's still a piece of glass in my nose.” Eddie chuckled again. “What about that time we went to that video rental place and snuck into the back?”

“You tried stuffing porn into my fanny pack,” Eddie grimaced at him. “Of course I remember. We got caught.”

Richie gave a flashy smile and replied, “True, but we got away with one and went back to my place and watched it.” He brought his glass to his lips and chuckled as he took another drink, “That shit was so fuckin' awkward.”

“We've done worse than that,” Eddie said bluntly, a twinge of humor in his voice.

Richie stilled, the playfulness between them already fading into the darkness he wasn't ready to face. Probably never would be. “Eddie, we don't--”

“Rich,” Eddie said sternly, looking at him with desperate eyes. “Please. If we don't talk about it now, we never will. You know that.”

Richie nodded, lips pressed into a thin line, “Yeah, okay.”

“When we were kids,” the shorter man started, Richie ready to vomit on the spot, “There were, some things I said... that I shouldn't have.” Eddie was obviously having a hard time, but Richie remained silent. “And... I thought about those things every single day. I wanted so badly to take back what I said, but it couldn't.”

“Eds,” Richie said, not to interrupt him, but to try and show his sympathy.

“I was just so scared,” Eddie clasped his hands together, his voice beginning to crack. “I was so scared, Richie.”

Tears came out of Eddie's eyes and he hadn't even realized it, his lips quivering and he kept his head low. He turned and looked up at Richie, who watched him with concern. “I'm so sorry, Rich. I just couldn't let her know. I didn't know what she would do. I didn't know she would hurt you like that. And I can't forgive myself for the terrible things I said. How I hurt you.”

“Edsie,” Richie couldn't help but say, pulling the now sobbing man into his arms. Eddie went willingly and wrapped his arms around him, crying into his chest. Richie cradled him, hand on the back of his head and the other rubbing his back soothingly, his lips pressed to the top of Eddie's hair, which had grown out since they visited Derry.

His hair was so soft, and smelled freshly washed, Eddie always bathed before going to sleep. The smell was the only thing keeping his own tears from spilling over, just rubbing his cheek into the softness as Eddie spilled out his emotions. His heart was soaring with Eddie's apology which was, arguably, over due, but he would accept it.

“Edsie, it's okay,” Richie laughed strangely, continuing to pet him. “I forgive you.”

Eddie pushed away from him, glaring at him angry and confused, “How the fuck can you forgive me for that?”

Richie sighed and said, “Because we were two kids who had no idea what they were doing with their lives. We had an amazing year together, but it was bound to end eventually. Sure, I hated you for what you did, but I know now, and I did before, why you did what you did. Things were scary then, and people like,” Richie paused, pondering the word, “me, end up on the ass end of the obituaries because we're someone's sport.”

“Us, Richie,” Eddie corrected him firmly, “People like us.”

Richie just shook his head, “It doesn't matter anymore. It's in the past.” The hand he had one Eddie's neck was creeping upward without him realizing it. “I forgive you and I still...” he chose his words carefully, deciding to rephrase his sentence instead. “I'm happy you moved on, got married and all that shit. But you can't expect me, of all people, to hold a grudge against you for protecting yourself.”

“Would you have done the same?”

Eddie's retort took him by surprise, making him question if he really would have thrown the vulnerable teenager to the wolves. He sighed deeply, his hands dropping from Eddie, unsure of how to answer. Then asked, “Would you have forgiven me if I did?”

The silence returned as both of them considered their possible futures had the tables been turned. Richie had been scared of getting caught as a teen, but his libido was too over powering for him to care, which lead them to getting caught in the first place. If his mother had walked in on them—at the time it wouldn't have been something that would have gone over well. Richie had explained to her years later what turned him into such a recluse that refused college and hid in his room playing video games, and she was surprisingly receptive. To quote her words, “I'm not happy about it, but I still love you.”

The idea of him hurting Eddie like that made his stomach churn, and he gripped his shirt. “Eddie,” he said quickly and panting heavily, obviously confused. “Bathroom.”

Eddie was taken aback by the sudden statement, unsure if it was a request or a demand. “Uh,” he turned and pointed to the door behind them. “Through there.”

Richie was immediately on his feet and reach for the knob, fully expecting a washroom. Instead it was a bedroom, fully furnished like another part of the house. He didn't have time to take it all in before he dashed to the next door, sliding comically into the toilet, nearly missing it. Eddie was behind him, nearly by him as he hurled his guts. “Are you okay?” his voice was so concerned that it strangely soothed him.

“Yeah,” Richie nodded, taking the hand towel Eddie offered him. “Yeah, I'm fine.”

“I'd ask if it was something you ate,” the shorter man stated, helping Richie stand and leading him to the sink. “But I'm sure that's not the case.”

Richie couldn't look at him, keeping his eyes low and at the sink. He turned the faucet and scooped water into his mouth, rinsing his teeth and throat. 'Again with the vomiting,' he scolded his reflection. 'You need to stop drinking.'

“Here,” a toothbrush was thrust into his hand, “It's clean, I swear.”

The taller man just nodded and went to clean his mouth, knowing it was better to do as Eddie said than argue with him. Eddie said something about giving him some privacy and went back into the den, collecting their glasses to take upstairs to be washed later. Richie brushed, gargled and rinsed, finding the non-ruined side of the towel to wipe his face, giving his face a quick wash just to be sure.

He tossed the towel into a clothes basket next to the tub and headed back into the bedroom, wanting to take a better look while Eddie was upstairs. There was a twin sized bed, with plush pillows and duvet, much like the guest room he was welcomed to. More bookshelves hid away here, but mostly of various knickknacks, actual nonfiction books—which took Richie completely by surprise considering how much more logistic and 'statistic' Eddie had become. He made his way to the nightstand to flick on the light, a soft orange glow covering the room.

He plopped down on the bed, needing to rest his wobbly legs. While the bedroom upstairs was Eddie's and Myra's, this one was strictly Eddie's. It smelled just like him, aftershave and all. He was tempted to bury his face in one of the dusty pillows, for one more inhale of his scent before crossing Eddie out of his life for good, but he rejected the idea, finding it more stupid than sentimental.

He looked over at the nightstand, a reflecting like catching his eyes. “I didn't know you wore glasses,” Richie mumbled to himself as if talking to the smaller man. He picked them up and turned them around in his hands, suddenly realizing they weren't Eddie's.

“They're yours,” Eddie said from the door, leaning against the frame and watching him with concern in his face.

“You kept them?” Richie questioned, holding them on display.

Eddie curled his lips in to chew on them for a moment before making his way across the room, opening the only drawer. Richie leaned over to peak inside, a whirlwind of emotions flooding through him. Inside was and interesting collection of items that would have felt borderline stalker if it wasn't for Eddie being the collector. There was a shirt he knew was definitely his, noting that his fashion sense hadn't changed over the last three decades, tucked beside some DVD cases that were of his stand-up routines he didn't even know left _Netflix_. There was even a kids movie he'd played a very minor role in nestled within the bunch.

However, the bottle of lube and a sizable dildo were the main focal points in the drawer, painting a very bizarre picture of Eddie's adulthood.

Mike had explained to them, on several occasions, that the further you got away from Derry, the more you forget. With that in mind, Eddie lived in New York, which, compared to Richie's new home in LA, was just a few blocks away. Eddie claimed he remembered a lot of his childhood, especially when he would make holiday trip to his mother's house. It explained how he was able to keep up with everyone; Richie's stand-up, Bev's clothing line that filled Myra's closet, and Bill's books.

He watched Eddie take up the old shirt that was three decades too small for him to wear again, and caressed it fondly between his fingers, a gentle smile on his face. “I used to sleep with this around my pillow,” Eddie said lovingly, “It took a year before I washed it.”

“That's,” Richie paused, raising a brow, “A very weird thing to tell someone you have 'number one fan' material of.”

Eddie just laughed, Richie couldn't stop his smile. “Guess you could say I am.” He lowered the shirt back into the drawer and closed it. “Your number one fan, I mean.”

Richie chuckled, clasping his hands between his spread knees, keeping his head low so Eddie wouldn't seem him start to lose his cool. From the corner of his eyes he spotted a picture frame, one that made his heart clench. Eddie followed his gaze and took up the frame, taking a shaky seat next to the taller man, holding it between them.

It was a small frame that featured a young Richie and Eddie, his arm slung around the smaller boy with genuine smiles on their faces. A Polaroid taken while they were still a couple, unbeknownst the rest of the Losers, a photo taken by Stan during their last summer together. Slipped into the side of the frame was a photo line from the booth at the theater, just the two of them. The fourth one ended with a kiss, he remembered, but it was missing.

Richie took the picture frame from him, holding it in anxiety wracked hands, tears stinging the corners of his eyes. Eddie was so beautiful back then. 'Still is,' he admitted to himself, 'just grown up.' He grabbed the photo strip, seeing the three pictures, two of which were them making stupid faces, the third a 'say cheese.'

“I cut the fourth one out after mom found out,” Eddie informed, knowing Richie wanted to ask about it but wouldn't. “Kept it in my wallet.”

Richie smirked weakly, “And to think I called you heartless all those years ago.”

Eddie looked worrisome and put a friendly hand on Richie's back, “I'm so sorry.”

Richie slammed his hands down, letting the frame dangle loosely from his fingers. He glanced at Eddie, wanting to scold him for thinking he still needed to apologize, but he couldn't. Not with how close their faces were. He saw the plush lips of the smaller man and felt the beast inside him stir, noticing the softening features of Eddie's face.

Richie couldn't stop himself, the hand on Eddie's hand slipped to his scarred cheek and he pressed their lips together, feeling years of neglect and longing. Eddie whimpered at the kiss, sounding shocked, but as soon as Richie went to pull away, the smaller man's hands were tangling in his hair and pulling him back down. Richie surged, dropping the picture frame and wrapped Eddie in a grip that squeezed the air out of his lungs. But he didn't care if he couldn't breathe, he just wanted to kiss and hold him again, like they used to.

“Richie,” Eddie spoke with a needy and concerned tone.

“I...” Richie stammered, pushing away from him, “I shouldn't have... I just threw up five minutes ago and now I'm kissing a dime.”

Eddie giggled, “You brushed,” and grabbed him again, giving him another inviting kiss, but keeping it quick, then pressed their foreheads together. “You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that.”

They locked eyes, Richie's glasses slipping down his nose and beginning to blur Eddie's face. While he spent his entire life cursing his eyesight, not being able to see Eddie without them made him curse them even harder. The smaller man grinned and pushed them back up with his thumbs, leaving a sweet peck on the tip of his nose. “They still do that?” he asked teasingly, forcing a strained laugh from Richie's throat. He felt a warmth spread through him at the fact Eddie was trying to comfort him.

Eddie's hands felt from his hair and down his chest, resting there, feeling his heart hammer against his ribs. Richie raised a hand to grab one of them, bring it to his lips and kissing each finger tip. “Edsie,” he said with a shaky voice. Eddie surged this time, shoving their mouths together in a greedy kiss Richie easily fell into, already trying to untie his robe and push it off his shoulders.

It pooled around Eddie's waist, those smaller hands slipping under Richie's shirt and making him visibly shutter. “Edsie,” Richie moaned, Eddie feeling at his pudgy stomach, running fingers through his chest hair and resting on his pectorals. He shivered under the touch, pushing himself into his palms. His own were on coming up to hold Eddie's face, their kiss just a mash of lips and teeth and tongue. “Fuck,” he moaned again, now grabbing at the buttons of Eddie's night shirt.

Eddie leaned back, shoving his hands away, ripping the shirt open himself, grabbing Richie's hands and shoving them to his skin. His eyes locked with his, eyebrows raised and pupils already blown wide. Richie's fingers grazed the scar tissue on his chest, feeling around all the lines and crevasses that were created to bring them back together. He wasn't sure if he liked how he felt thinking that, but he didn't care. Eddie was in his arms, kissing his lips, sucking on his tongue.

Eddie shoved him back against the headboard, yanking at his open shirt and tossing it somewhere he didn't care about, then climbing into Richie's lap. Richie took the initiative to pull his own shirt off, exposing how the years had changed him. He didn't stop Eddie from roaming the expanse of his torso, his belly, or any of his hair. If anything, it seemed to turn him on more. Richie spotted a dusting of hair on Eddie's body and just pulled him closer, his lips latching onto his neck, sucking just under his jaw.

Two large palms groped Eddie's ass, a lusty moan filling the room as he threw his head back, giving the taller man more access to his neck. “Fuck, Richie,” Eddie whimpered, Richie swearing he was going to cum just from hearing his name come out of those beautiful lips again. The smaller man tugged Richie back by his hair, craving the feeling of finally being alive again.

He scooted back, kissing down Richie's chest, finding a nipple and pulling it between his lips, along with the hair there. Richie let out an effeminate moan, raising a fist to bite back the embarrassing sound. Eddie pulled it away and said, “Let me hear them again, please. I've missed your voice.”

Richie swore his cock was going to burst out his zipper if Eddie kept talking like that. Between the two of them, Richie had always been the louder one, the smaller man always teasing him for being so sensitive. He watched Eddie switch to his other nipple, letting his fingers dance around his hair, whimpering at the pleasure.

“Eddiebear!? Are you down there?”

Richie froze, sworing he was getting flashbacks and nearly fell over at the shock. Eddie spun around holding him down, hands warm and loving on his skin. “No, Richie,” Eddie said in a hushed tone. “No, it's okay. Just let me...” he held Richie close, feeling the man shake beneath him, both of them high on lust and longing.

“Myra, honey,” Eddie shouted, his mouth right in Richie's ear, but they both knew it had to be said. “I have a lot of work I need to catch up on. Just go back to bed.”

“Why is the door locked?”

“So you don't bother me while I'm trying to work. Much like you are right now.”

Eddie had pulled Richie in for another bruising kiss, his tongue licking across his lips, the taller man eagerly falling into it, even if he felt his heart nearly stop. The kiss was a mix of pecks and open mouth kisses, hands exploring anything naked and then some, all while Eddie's wife was a door between them.

“Just come back to bed soon, sweetie,” she finally said as she walked away.

“Fuck,” Eddie huffed, his arms tightly wound around his neck and tongue fucking his mouth. He felt Eddie slip away, his arms outstretched to try and keep him with him. The smaller man hobbled to the bedroom door, closing and locking it, both of them needing as much space between them and Myra as they could. If Eddie was really going to give this to him, he wasn't going to go through what he had before again.

Eddie crawled back onto the bed, fingers ripping at Richie's belt and shoving his jeans open. He yanked his cock out, feeling the throbbing strength in his palm, the taller man groaning at the contact, eyes needy and mouth hung open wantonly. Eddie grinned and began digging into the nightstand, tugging out the bottle of lube and a strip of condoms. Richie chuckled, “You bring guys down here often, Edsie?”

“Fuck you, Richie,” he shot back, an equally dumb smile on his face.

Richie flipped them, now hovering over Eddie's small form, nuzzling his lips and kissing his chin. “I've missed you so much, Edsie.” He kissed him sweetly, “But won't doing this hurt your lung?”

Eddie shoved him, flipping them back over, now straddling Richie's hips. His hands were hard on his chest, groping his muscles and leaning down to lick at his ear, “The doctor said as long as we take it slow and steady, we can do whatever we want.”

Eddie slipped off his body and dropped his pants, Richie spotting those signature 'tighty-whities.' He knew Eddie had been wearing them just from helping him get dressed in the early days of his recovery. But this was a completely different experience. Seeing them got his blood boiling even though they weren't staying on. Eddie was beautiful to watch undress and stand naked before him. He was shaved smooth, probably since Richie got him home, and was begging to be touched.

Richie sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed, hands out and resting on Eddie's hips. Eddie ran his fingers through his hair, Richie moaning into the feeling, looking up at the beautiful, perfect face staring back down at him. “I've waited twenty four years to see you like this again. So fuckin,” the emotions were overflowing from Eddie, “so fucking long.”

“Edsie,” Richie said worriedly, his hands creeping up his back. “I never stopped loving you, baby. I couldn't bring myself to hate you. Not after what happened. I loved you too much.”

Eddie slipped closer to him and seated himself on Richie's lap. “I'm so sorry, Rich.”

“Shh,” Richie continued petting him. “But if this is a one time thing, I can't. I can't do that. I just... can't, Edsie.”

Eddie pulled Richie's face to his, thumbs stroking his stubbly jaw, kissing him sweetly. “I can't either, Richie.” He kissed him again, hands sliding to curl into his locks. “I didn't even want to come home.” Fingers danced along his spine. “I wanted to go with you. But I couldn't say it. I was so scared.” He shivered as Richie kissed his collarbone. “I still am. I feel like this is the sweetest dream and by morning, it'll just be a horrible nightmare.”

Richie bit his neck, hearing him hiss in pain. “Not a dream, baby.”

Eddie yanked his hair, hearing the man moan beneath him, eyes closed in pleasure. “Richie,” Eddie said in that way that always played with his heartstrings. “I need you.”

Richie flipped them, Eddie on his back and legs around his hips, pulling him down for more desperate kisses. Richie pushed his tongue into Eddie's mouth, tasting the mint of his toothpaste and a hint of whiskey. His hands slipped under the smaller man's knees, pushing them up and carefully resting them on his own shoulders, leaning up. He stroked Eddie's legs, from his thighs and up his shins, trailing kisses up his ankles and the sides of his feet, leaving a long, wet kiss on his big toe while staring down at him.

He let the legs fall around him and his hand went to touch Eddie's aching cock. Eddie whined at the feeling, thrusting his hips up into the loose fist. His free hand found the lube and popped it open, somehow managing to slick his fingers and find Eddie's hole. The gaping mouth of the smaller man, eyes rolling back and grinding down on his fingers only made him want to hurry and get him ready for him.

One digit slipped inside, slow and cautious, the ring of muscles tight and sucking him in. Eddie reached for his wrist and shoved the finger deep inside, crying as it disappeared in an instant. “I can't wait, Richie. I can take it.”

“I don't want to hurt you, baby,” Richie replied, his brows raised with worry.

“I've been hurt worse,” Eddie smirked teasingly at him, gesturing to his scarred chest. Richie rest a hand over top Eddie's and they awkwardly squeezed each other's fingers, Richie fighting his emotions so they can stay in 'the mood.' He withdrew his finger, hearing Eddie grunt. He knew he wasn't really hurting him, so he pushed through it, letting Eddie have his way for now. Back in, the digit disappeared, the smaller man gasping wantonly. He crooked and twisted his index, searching for that one place that would ensure Eddie was his.

“You're still so fucking beautiful, Edsie,” Richie complimented, holding back a shiver at his words. “You haven't aged a fucking day.”

Eddie gave him a slight kick and chuckled, “You're trying to flatter me.”

“I'm serious, baby,” Richie replied, pulling his finger free and pushing at the hole with a second. “You still look and smell just like I remember. I don't care about anything that's changed, you're still my Edsie.”

The two fingers speared him open, Eddie sucking in a breath between clenched teeth and reaching for the taller man, the big dumb man that he is. Richie was his, just as much as he was Richie's. He whimpered at the twitch in his hole, his prostate being assaulted gently. Richie closed the distance between them and they kissed as his fingers carved him open. “You grew up so much, Rich,” Eddie said between long, lip locked kisses. “You somehow got fucking taller, more goofy looking, and so...” he ran a hand down Richie's furred chest, “So fucking delicious.”

“Fuck, Edsie,” Richie cursed, yanking his fingers free and reaching for the condoms. He torn one open and slipped it down his cock. Eddie would definitely need a third finger, but both of them were so desperate to be connected again, neither wanted to wait any longer. He dumped a liberal amount of lube into his palm, slicking up his cock, then pushing one of Eddie's legs back to expose his hole, the palm running over the winking entrance.

Eddie whimpered and pushed down onto the hand, feeling it violate his senses, endlessly stroking his hole with each finger, one or two slipping in occasionally. “Hurry the fuck up, Rich,” he begged, grabbing his own cock and squeezing it so he wouldn't cum just from being fondled. Richie lined himself up with his lover's hole, pressing slowly into it, just letting the tip enter. Eddie shook and cried, the pain already getting to him.

“I've got you, baby,” Richie said, leaning down to pepper his forehead with his lips. “And I'm never letting you go again.”

Eddie's fingers dug into his biceps, trying to fight off the pain. Richie knew he would need to take it slow, even if he didn't last, he wasn't stopping until he was all they way inside, no matter how long it took to get there. He carefully rolled his hips, not letting his cock head proceed further inside, just stimulating him open and relaxing him. They kissed slowly, tongues and lips dancing to a familiar rhythm that they were the creators of. 

Eddie swore he was ready for Richie, but his height wasn't the only thing that had gotten larger. He felt stupid to think he would be able to take something like Richie with so little prep. He even took his time with his toy, always reminding him of the greatest summer of his life. He allowed Richie to take his time invading his willing body, loving how they felt around each other, and the sounds they made together.

Richie pushed further inside each thrust after a few minutes, the heat ruining every logical thought he could have in the next two weeks. He pushed until he was just an inch away from being completely engulfed, but the heels digging into his ass shoved him closer, concealing him completely. “Fuck,” he moaned, his voice an octave higher than normal, a hand coming back to hold one of Eddie's thighs.

“Fuck me, Richie,” the smaller man begged, his heels mocking a thrusting motion. Richie shoved his pants down to his knees, boxers included, and raised up onto his hands, hovering over the only man he truly loved.

The heat of his body was already too much, Richie having to bite his tongue to keep from cumming. He started slow, pulling back out, Eddie's whimpers testing his resolve. He pulled until the tip was all that was left, then in one swift movement, without Eddie's feet guiding him, thrust back inside. The sound Eddie made was guttural and violent, but Richie knew he wouldn't have told him to stop. His hole was tight around him, begging to be forced open and reshaped to Richie's image.

It took no time to find a pace that appeased both of them, Eddie's nails clawing at his back, legs gripping his hips. Richie remained low, moaning hotly into Eddie's neck, unable to stop himself from making fairly embarrassing noises for a top. And yet, Eddie would argue it was the only time Richie actually stopped talking, just moaning and getting lost in the pleasure. Even now, neither could find what they wanted to say, just moaned and cried for each other.

Richie reluctantly pulled away from Eddie, rising to his knees and taking Eddie's hips with him, thrusting into him wildly and without rhyme or reason. He threw his head back, “Fuck, baby, you feel so good!”

“Ri-chie!” Eddie moaned as he was being thoroughly fucked like he'd wanted to be for years.

Richie fucked him harder, chasing his own pleasure in Eddie's body. He didn't feel bad about it, knowing Eddie was doing the same thing, stroking his cock, his fist a blur. Eddie wiggled and writhed, rolling his hips so Richie could bruise his prostate. “Fuck, Rich,” he cried, “I'm gonna cum.”

“Cum, baby,” Richie blindly whimpered. “Let me fuck you while you cum.”

Eddie just nodded like a madman as he let his orgasm take over. Richie shuttered at the feel of his clenching insides, refusing to cum until Eddie was done. The smaller man just moaned and cried, stroking his cock as rope after rope coated his chest and belly, his other hand pressed against Richie's chest for no particular reason. Richie watched Eddie come undone, fucking himself senseless as he spilled his load into the condom, pretending that it was his lover's warmth he was staining.

A chanting of “fuck” echoed throughout the room as he emptied his balls, Eddie still whimpering beneath him, a cum dripping hand running over his chest. Richie leaned down, lips crashing as he practically screamed his orgasm, the slick hand of Eddie's soaking his neck. He slowed his thrusts roughly, heavy and loud grunts buried in their kiss, breathing harshly through his nose.

When he came down, he fell to Eddie's side, panting and sweating from how hot it had suddenly become. Eddie curled into his chest, his arm wrapping around him and neither of them caring how disgusting they were. It felt right to lay this way, in each other's arms again, kissing chastely and lovingly.

“I love you, Richie,” Eddie said hoarsely, his breath weak from the missing lung.

Richie rolled onto his side so they were facing each other, a palm on Eddie's face and stroking. Tears were forming in his eyes, as they stared, swearing he could see a younger version of Eddie looking back at him. Eddie almost swore the same. 

“I've waited so long to hear you say that,” Richie cried, not sobbing this time. “I love you so much, Edsie.”

Eddie found the strength to push on top of him, kissing him long and slow, “I'll never hurt you again, Richie. I don't care who knows what I am. What we are.”

“You're mine, and I'm yours,” Richie added, holding his face, “that's what we are.”

Eddie smiled.


End file.
